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Zita walked into a black-and-white movie.
After a second, when she saw the pale blue sparkle of Wyn’s portal fade away, she realized her mistake. Her surroundings were merely tinted silvery by the light, like a full moon on a cloudless night. As none of the torches were lit, most of the rectangular room was in shadow. The only illumination came from behind her and at the far end, where the sole, very wide entrance was.
She stood at the far end of a Grecian-style building twice the length and width of her entire two-bedroom apartment, lined with fancy marble columns. Behind the pillars, tiny tiles covered the walls with intricate scenes that featured the same people ascendant over others. A complex pattern was inlaid in fine mosaic tiles on the floor, concentric circles with... some other decorations she couldn’t quite make out. Ominous smears, drag marks, and the competing tracks of both feet and vehicles combined with the poor lighting to obscure the exact design. Broken marble against one wall had just enough left to suggest either three stone chairs or two chairs and a marble table between them. Despite the profusion of stark black roses that wound around the columns outside, the floral scent did not survive the reek of burnt flesh, sweat, and vehicle exhaust.
Her stomach twisted when she turned around.
Silvery light streamed down from a perfect circular opening above an enormous statue, that of a bearded guy with a vaguely familiar three-headed dog on a leash and a trident missing a prong. The gold and gems and marble of the statue gleamed spotlessly. In contrast, brown soiled the white stone altar at his feet, beside a brass bowl smeared with soot. Behind him was a blank stone wall, the only undecorated wall in the room.
I bet Wyn would know who that is and have a clue where I am. Despite all the Greek stuff, it doesn’t feel like Olympus. Since party line hasn’t come back, it’s some other plane or dimension or whatever. Now, how do I find where they keep prisoners around here? This isn’t it, she thought.
Through the doorway at the opposite end of the room, she glimpsed ghostly white poplars and one of the box trucks from Barcelona. Right outside the entrance, a form slumped inside a big cage like those at the Arc. One hand had escaped the cage and was on the tile.
She padded toward the cage. Dios, por favor, don’t let them be dead.
Whoever was in it moved.
Her toe nudged something, sending a small object rolling across the tile with a tinkling metallic sound. Curious, she picked it up.
A bullet casing.
“Carajo,” she swore, her voice echoing in the big room. Not only am I in another dimension, but they have firefights here.
Now that she knew what to look for and her eyes had adjusted, she spotted additional ones scattered across the floor, as well as an odd cylinder with holes in the sides that tickled her memory. Her back prickled as she stepped back.
I’ve seen one of those before. Miguel had them in his gear for that one SWAT mission. It’s a... flash grenade!
She’d barely recognized it when movement outside caught her attention, and she saw multiple people closing on the building.
Overhead, stone ground against stone. Metallic objects clattered and echoed as they struck the tile and rolled toward her.
Praying they were more flash grenades and not something deadly, Zita leapt to the statue. Switching to her gargoyle form, she crammed herself behind it. She squeezed her eyes shut as she curled up in a ball and pulled her wings over herself, covering her head with her arms.
The pair of flashes was so bright that she glimpsed it even through her eyelids, and the noise was piercing despite her efforts.
Men barked orders nearby. Human shapes poured in through the entrance and spread out with military precision, less than an arm’s width apart.
Zita crawled up the statue, pressing her wings as close to her body as she could. If I have to teleport, I will, but hopefully I can legit get out of here and help whoever’s in the cage.
“They’re invisible! Search the room and keep those goggles on!” someone shouted.
As the light shifted, she glanced up and saw the opening above the statue now had shrunken.
They’re closing the roof!
Careful to keep as much of the bulk of the marble man between herself and the searchers as possible, she sped up, pausing only when she reached his shoulders and eyed the exit.
The opening was now half-closed, too small for her gargoyle form to fly through. She shifted to a dark-furred howler monkey. No matter what I do, they’ll see the shadow when I go through that, so best to make it quick.
After a glance to see if anyone had spotted her, she launched herself upward. Grabbing the edge of whatever was covering the opening, she hauled herself onto the roof.
And into a net.
Two men released the massive slab of rock they’d been shoving over the opening and stepped back when she appeared. They were big, muscular men in combat vests and helmets over fatigues, the same almost-uniform she’d seen in Barcelona, down to the watches on their wrists. Night-vision goggles were strapped over their faces, and both had the stance of soldiers. While they wore handguns strapped to their sides, one had an air rifle on a sling as well.
Can’t fly until I get the net off and can’t help the guy in the cage if they’re attacking me at the same time or if those guys inside come out. In any case, these dudes can’t be allowed to broadcast what I’m doing. Given the size of that slab of granite they’re pushing, they’re extra strong, so I likely can’t hurt them in human form.
As she switched back to her gargoyle form and ripped off the net, the quicker of the two pulled his air rifle and shot her.
The dart ricocheted off her stony skin.
His companion had whipped out his radio. “Arca confirmation, roof! No others sighted!”
Caramba. She lunged at the dart shooter, more to clear space for herself than anything else. “That monkey could’ve been anyone.”
He jerked backward out of the way, dropping his rifle, and counter-attacked.
Close-in, Krav Maga variant, she judged as she sidestepped his attack. She shook her wings to get the last bits of net off.
His friend, the talker, hung back, waiting for a shot with a much larger weapon that he’d picked up off the ground. It didn’t look like it fired darts.
Is that a grenade launcher? Never practiced with one of those, but I definitely don’t want to get hit. Why would he risk firing so close to himself and his partner, though? Maybe they’re extra tough. Her priorities changed, and she focused on keeping Dart Shooter between her and whatever Talker had. As she began a cautious ginga, she tried diplomacy. “Can we talk? You don’t want to fight me.”
“You’re the second-best option since the hot blond is hiding,” Talker said, still tracking her with whatever his weapon was. His walkie-talkie squawked at his side, other male voices confirming they had seen no one else and saying something about sealing off the temple.
While Dart Shooter was still attacking, his movements followed a pattern, so she avoided his attacks, occasionally swiping with a clawed hand and missing so he’d grow overconfident.
She glanced around for something to use. Even as a gargoyle, the stone they’d been pushing was too big for her to pick up and throw around. A black metal box with an antenna and a small solar array were bolted to one edge. A pack of cards and the dart that had bounced off her were the only other items on the flat roof.
Pues, that narrows my options. This roof is longer than the room below—the hole was right above the statue, but there’s a fair bit of space before the edge of the roof on the one side. Zita forgot about the difference and refocused.
Dart Shooter was still swiping at her, growing angrier by the miss. Talker was still trying to maneuver into position to do whatever he had planned.
She angled herself, luring Dart Shooter to where she wanted him to be, and then she pretended to stumble.
With a shout, Dart Shooter lunged at her and hit the black box behind her when she dodged.
Something crunched, and he yelped. He reeled back. His hand was bleeding and bending the wrong way, and the box had a large dent in it.
Before he could recover, Zita scooped up the dart and the cards and rolled past him. She whipped the dart at Talker’s leg with as much force as she could, praying their proximity would work in her favor.
He exclaimed as it hit his thigh and stuck.
Dart Shooter pulled a handgun with his undamaged hand and aimed it at her. He curled his other arm into his chest.
“We only need her alive, not uninjured.” Talker yanked the dart out and threw it off the roof.
Someone below shouted.
“Nobody wants to take a dive like a sensible person,” Zita grumbled, and then threw the cards at their faces.
While they both jerked back, she darted forward before Dart Shooter could get far enough away to shoot accurately.
He tried to back away more, but she grabbed his gun hand and flared her wings, purposefully hitting his wounded hand.
Dart Shooter screamed.
She yanked away his gun, tossing it across the roof, and shoved him at Talker.
Thanks to his size and strength, her shove only made Dart Shooter stagger. He swatted at her with his good fist.
Talker kept the monster gun pointed her direction, but it wavered. He scrubbed a hand on the side of his head. “How many of those darts did it take to bring down that guy earlier?”
“Too many,” Dart Shooter grunted. His attacks grew more erratic and required more of her attention to avoid.
Her stomach clenched. Freelance? Please let him be okay, Dios.
At last, Zita spotted an opening. She feinted with a hand strike, lashing out with a kick when he stepped aside to dodge it. Her clawed foot tore through his pants and ripped flesh. She winced as she danced back, preparing for another attack.
He stumbled to a knee, his broken hand keeping him off balance.
While he was trying to stay standing, she grabbed his night-vision goggles, yanked them to one side, and then kicked his wounded leg.
Dart Shooter folded with a moan. He tried to stand, but his injury wouldn’t permit it.
She glanced at Talker.
His gun and one corner of his mouth were both drooping.
“What you got in that big gun? It looks real heavy,” she said. Warily, she danced toward him.
The top of a ladder peeked over the edge of the building.
She helpfully knocked it over.
“Glue grenades. Stops you from flying. Heavy for a gun,” he mumbled, the words slurring.
Shouts came from below, and Dart Shooter was mumbling into a walkie-talkie.
“Don’t you want to take a nice nap?” she said, hurling herself into a rapid somersault to get in close, and then tried to steal the handgun belted at his side.
It wouldn’t come free, a strap holding the weapon in the holster.
He elbowed her in her head, but between his sluggishness and her stone, it didn’t hurt either of them. “Gonna get the reward for capture... cash and first pick on the bounty hunter’s gear.”
“That sounds tempting, sí. What happened to that guy, anyway?” she agreed, circling behind him and trying again while he was turning to find where she’d gone. This time when she darted forward, all she did was unsnap the strap holding his weapon in place before she was dancing around him again.
He smothered a yawn and turned toward her again. Talker was mumbling to himself, but she made out enough of an answer. “Prison. Revenge later.”
This time, her lunge netted her the handgun, though she really wanted to slap the guy until he told her everything he knew. “How do I get into the prison?”
“Don’t tell her anything,” Dart Shooter said, though he wasn’t doing anything else other than gripping his knife as if he feared she’d go after him again. He’d tied part of his shirt around his leg as an impromptu bandage.
“Let us catch you... or...” Talker was almost dragging the grenade launcher now. He snorted and half-smiled as he sank to his knees.
“Oye, I’m not that stupid.” Zita relieved him of the weapon, setting it well to the side. It was one of the heavier firearms she’d ever picked up, about the same weight as two gallons of water. It had three projectiles inside.
Talker collapsed in slow motion, tension leaving his body as sleep claimed it.
She took the time to knock down another ladder before searching him.
Although she wanted to take the large knife and holster strapped to his leg, she didn’t think it’d shift with her. She had enough of a challenge keeping her blanket and water. Since she could, she stole a small box of darts for the air rifle and crammed it into a pocket.
I better not lose the food trying to fit these in there too. Pity I can’t travel with the air rifle. She peeked over the edge.
While she’d been fighting the two guys on the roof, those on the ground had taken positions around the building and cage, too many for her to fight alone. Most had weapons pointed at the sky or the opening to the building. A few were stealthily climbing to the roof using the decorations, while others lined up the ladder again. The prisoner was awake in his cage, and now she could make out a sling on his right arm.
Too many of them and I’m not going to teleport in front of witnesses if I can help it. The captive dude is young, like he should be making bad decisions at a keg party, not trapped in Zeus’s melodrama. Pues, stalking time, then. This guy, Freelance, the prisoners Wyn told me about, and maybe some slaves, with only a mercenary gang in my way. A very large one, apparently. Pan comido. Zita checked for the best exit and got her first good look at the area.
Set on a small hill, the building was on a plain in the largest cave she’d ever seen. It was miles across in width, so large she could only see the cave walls closest to where she stood. A narrow lake or wide river surrounded it on all but one side, where lava poured out of two gaps in a wall, disappearing from view. Lights glowed on a dramatic castle in the opposite direction of the lava.
Based on how far away it seemed and how small the tents surrounding it appeared, the palace had to be huge.
Outside of the white poplars circling it, very little interrupted the pastel monotony of tall, pale flowers and grasses filling every direction, other than a few dark, misshapen trees, a square patch of bare earth with a few abandoned shovels, and a mini ground-mounted set of solar panels near the lava. Wide dirt paths lead toward the palace and toward one side of the island.
Two men lifted the cage with the prisoner and started carrying it toward the truck.
She grimaced and checked above her, hoping she’d be able to hide herself there.
Overhead, a silvery globe hung like a moon, with multiple smaller, similar ones scattered around it. Their combined light showed the stalactites they were affixed to and the roof of the vast cavern. They had the same unreal, watery quality that she’d seen in the artificial illumination of the undersea kingdom.
This isn’t Atlantis, but I wonder if that’s what the sky there was supposed to be like at night if Hephaestus had finished his work? It’s too bright up top to hide well if they know I’m up there, so I need to stay closer to the ground or they’ll spot me. Pues, guess I got to slow them down so I can trail them to wherever they’re taking cage guy. She ran and got the grenade launcher.
Someone’s head popped up over the edge of the building, and then dropped back down, yelling, when she turned the grenade launcher toward them.
Propping it on one of the fancy edges of the building, she aimed it at the windshield of the still-empty truck.
Shouting came from below.
No more time. She fired three times in rapid succession, fighting to control the oversized weapon even in her heavier gargoyle form.
The first grenade hit the glass and then exploded in a gray, opaque mess over it, obscuring it. Her next two shots had been placed well over the heads of the closest big clusters of men, one of which had a ladder, and were less successful in covering the targets.
While the glue stopped only one or two of them, the rest scattered and lost their formation. Unfortunately, they retained enough mobility and sense to send a barrage of darts and rubber bullets at her.
Hurling the now-empty glue gun at a climber who had almost reached the roof—he ducked back down, but one hand still gripped the edge—she rolled away. Regaining her feet, she ran to another side.
Some of the men there had run to the truck side, but not all of them.
Taking what she could get, she launched herself off the roof, gliding over the poplars and into the fields of tall grass and flowers beyond.
Her back prickled, and she shifted to a Patagonian mara when she was close to the ground so she’d be less visible.
Another storm of bullets and darts shot by overhead.
She landed and spent a precious few seconds making certain her body still contacted the straps of her blanket and water bottles.
The flowers whispered a couple of feet above her head.
Concentrating, she focused on teleporting to the most memorable tree, a yew with twisted arms that had reminded her of the cephalopod chandelier at her friend Dmitri’s night club. It had the added benefit of being far enough away that anyone searching where she’d landed would not find her.
Once she was there, she left her blanket and water in the flowers at the base of the tree and scampered to the side opposite where she’d come. After shifting to a barred owl, Zita peeked out past the trunk to see if anyone had followed her.
In the distance, men swarmed around where she’d landed, spreading out and searching that area. The long howl of a wolf answered the distant cry of dogs.
I haven’t seen any other living creatures, even bugs. Either they’ve got shifters I’ll have to be wary of, or this place isn’t as barren elsewhere as it seems here. They were waiting for people to come through. Wonder what else they have planned? So far, though, I’m winning.
A soft hoot of satisfaction escaped. She flew up to a branch of the tree and leaned against the trunk so her outline wouldn’t be obvious as she waited. Another of the black boxes with an antenna and solar array was bolted to the tree.
She amused herself by ruining the panel and whatever the electronics box was while she attempted to be patient. When she finished that, she fluffed her feathers and drifted into an avian nap out of boredom, mentally dozing while she watched.
About a half hour later, all but one quartet of searchers had given up. A group of men moved out from the building. In their center, the cage rolled along, pulled by ropes and bedecked with lanterns that made it effortless to track as they walked across the plains toward the lava side of the island.
Finally! The goop must not be coming off the truck windshield. They’re splitting their forces to guard the portal building, to haul that cage somewhere, and to keep searching for me. Fat chance on that last one, guys. Now, show me where you’re keeping the prisoners while I figure out the right fur and feather patterns to keep unseen. Zita had to stop herself from dancing on her perch.
She stalked them for an hour, teleporting from the cephalopod yew to another that resembled a derby hat. Bringing the blanket and water had required caution, but she’d had the time to do that as well as pick apart the black box in the hat-tree as well. Near her new hiding place, asphodel surrounded solar panels and a cubic object with wheels, but she waited to examine those until after she’d seen where they were taking the prisoner.
The men stopped near her tree in a cleared area at the edge of the island.
Rather than the river that surrounded the other sides, this one had a deep chasm separating the island from the wall of the cave. Two narrow streams of lava trickled down the wall and disappeared. A wide rope suspension bridge crossed the gap, leading up to a flat ledge with a cave mouth on the other side.
One irritated guard, based on the stomping, kept banging his handheld radio on his leg and shaking it at the others. After a few minutes, with the biggest man pushing the cage, all but two crossed the swaying bridge and disappeared into the cave. With obvious annoyance, the men left outside jogged toward the distant palace.
None of them spared more than a glance for her tree.
She squinted, but didn’t see any cameras or guards on the outside.
After waiting for the runners to get far enough away, she left her things at the base of the tree and changed back into a Patagonian mara. With the tall grasses and flowers hiding her, she scurried over to the solar panels. She examined this set of electronics, chewing on a sprig of mint that had somehow found its way into her mouth.
The panels were small, the width of a student desk, and had attachments that made her suspect they were meant to be folded and carried. They were hooked up to a chunky battery the size of a big cooler on its own wheeled cart.
I don’t have to do much to sabotage this one. Zita grinned and shifted to a howler monkey again. Keeping low and working fast in the hopes of avoiding notice, she disconnected everything she could, looped the cables around the handle of the wheeled battery, and draped the solar panel over the top.
After becoming a pit bull, she grabbed the cables in her jaws and took a moment to perfect her grip. With the cart bumping along behind her, she scurried to the edge of the chasm.
The smoky scent of sulfur buried the aroma of the flowers and the sweat of the men she’d been tracking. Lava glowed below.
Gleefully, she released the cables and nudged the cart over the edge. Even before it hit the lava, she had darted back into the grass and over to the tree, hoping her brown, brindled coat would help hide her.
After no one came out to investigate, she picked up the sling with her things and hurried back to the bridge. While she hated to be so exposed, it would at least offer her partial cover from anyone. Flying in would be visible for quite a distance.
With a tail wag, she loped across the swinging bridge.
***
The lone guard inside the entrance was more scared of her than she was of him.
At least, until he realized she was alone.
Still, she’d brought him down, tied him up with his own belongings, and stashed him in a fern-laden lava pillar with his socks muffling any cries and a dart stuck in him to put him to sleep.
So far, so good. If he’d bothered to stand during his watch instead of lounging in that folding chair, he might’ve spotted me coming. His laziness was my gain. I won’t count on more luck like that. As soon as someone notices he’s missing, they’ll start searching for me. In gargoyle form again, Zita began picking her cautious way down the wide tunnel that was the only way deeper into the cavern.
On the bright side, the cave system showed no sign of electricity, cameras, or any other modern security features that she would have to avoid.
However, it was pitch-black. Empty sconces lined the walls at regular intervals, but whatever once filled them was gone, crumbled to dust or removed. While subtler than the clearly artificial plains outside, someone had also modified the cave system based on the ways it differed from all the ones she’d explored back home, such as the sconces, suspiciously even main passage, and the occasional human-sized, symmetrical archways.
Most animals can’t navigate in total darkness, and I don’t want to give myself away by lighting up the area as a pixie. Bat would work, but I’d have to give up the water and blanket. Guess I’m staying as is for now with a few switches over to dog to verify I haven’t lost the trail of those dudes.
The main tunnel appeared to be a roughly circular lava tube, wide enough for three or four tall, broad men to walk side-by-side and high enough to allow another man to stand on their shoulders at the same time. Frequent smaller side tunnels and caverns linked to it. Unfortunately, the main passageway also had long, straight stretches and blind corners, with signs of frequent use and no hiding places for anything bigger than a cat.
The men I’m tracking went down the main track, of course. I might be able to hide on the ceiling for short periods of time as a gargoyle if patrols don’t have great lighting and my luck holds, but I wouldn’t bet on that. Zita switched her attention to the smaller side tunnels and caverns.
The first few side caves and smaller tunnels she peeked into were better for hiding, with lots of rock formations, such as lavacicles and lava pillars. They also showed little to no obvious signs of regular travel.
Given that and the appealing thought of being able to navigate the cave system without taking the main tunnel, Zita started with the side caves and passages, making a few subtle chalk marks here and there to keep herself oriented.
Her mind whirled as she explored. It’s been hours since Freelance disappeared and probably was captured. He might already have escaped if he’s not hurt too bad, and these side routes would be the most logical place for him to hide. If he’s dead... he better not be dead. I have things to say to him, even if I have no clue what.
Some caves showed no signs of recent use, though dusty jars and moldering equipment implied they’d had purposes in the past. A few had very dim light from crystals set into lamps on the walls, with algae, fungi, and the occasional moss staining the surrounding rock. The ones with the crystals had the sweetest air, though the overall air quality was better than she expected so far underground. In one such chamber, she’d clambered up a pillar to find a hidden alcove above it that even had a tiny hot spring and a wide ledge, albeit one covered in mosses.
Between the bubbling water and the way the sheltered spot connected to the cave below, the sound of a passing patrol was muted but still audible.
After switching back to her Arca form, she took a long drink from a water bottle and ate a protein bar. Reluctantly, she stashed the blanket and water on the ledge.
This will do as a home base. Travel will be much easier if I can switch back and forth to a small form, and the side tunnels around here don’t appear to lead where I need to go. I’m going to have to go back to the main passageway if I don’t run into wherever the prisoners are soon. Zita returned to her gargoyle form and peeked below, listening until the patrol grew faint enough to seem safe.
She exited the little cave, retracing her way through the short passageway to the main tunnel.
A quick sniff as a dog before returning to gargoyle form confirmed that the men she’d been tracking had all continued down the main tunnel. She updated her discreet marks with chalk so she could find her refuge again later, and continued on.
While sneaking past the roaming patrols took time, being able to hide in a variety of small forms while they passed made it a lot faster than her early slow explorations. It helped that the patrols announced themselves with their flashlights and noise. The caves in current use tended to have bits of trash in the corners and bright, battery-powered camp lanterns that only illuminated their immediate area.
She kept scouting, flying as much as possible to avoid leaving a trail other than her chalk marks. Her brain kept ticking over scenarios, returning to her unsettled feelings about her relationship with Freelance more often than she liked. Something’s got to change. We’re not together but we are, and we trust each other in combat or doing extreme sports, but we can’t even manage a simple text exchange. We can’t—I won’t—continue in this weird in-between state.
Deeper into the cave system, useful but rustic implements stocked the smallest and meanest caverns. In one, an enormous cauldron sat on glowing red rocks in front of a table filled with stacks of pottery bowls and eating implements. Several of the dim crystals lit the kitchen, and had for a long time, based on the amount of lampenflora growing on the walls, the same fungi, algae, and mosses she had noted elsewhere. The fastidious part of herself was pleased to see that the food preparation table appeared clean, despite the flower stalks littering the floor. Although a spoon stirred something bubbling in the massive pot, no one was there to guide it.
The scent was one she recognized and enough to lure her over. A glance inside and a deep inhale as a cat confirmed her guess. She’d had enough of the sweetened barley water poured down her throat on Olympus. Kykeon, like the nymphs made, down to the spell that keeps it from burning when they wander off to do other things. So, whoever’s cooking might not be a slave, but a nymph or something instead. I’ll need to confirm, but if so, that cuts down the number of people I have to rescue.
Pieces came together. Kykeon, the three-headed dog statue—that’s Garm’s canine buddy, Curbasaurus or something—plus all the Greek stuff in a huge cave... I know where we are! It’s that Underworld place that we were warned not to enter. That means that somewhere there’s an exit to Olympus that I can take people through if I can’t rescue everyone on the first pass. Wyn’s been talking to Chiron about taking care of her aunt, so eventually she’ll contact him and he can get her to bring everyone home. The most awkward thing will be explaining Olympus to anyone I have to take there, assuming I can sneak them out of this place.
Zita exhaled and resumed her stealthy explorations. Gracias a Dios. That makes the rescue simpler. Now I just have to find the prisoners and Freelance.
